How to Entertain a Seven Year Old
by Kiki102
Summary: Because, seriously, what does one do with a seven year old? Ad really, it was only a matter of time before the immortal words "I'm bored" came from Oliver, considering who his father was. Oneshot.


**For those of you who haven't read Sherlock's Infant Instructions, Oliver is Sherlock's biological son. His mum was as close to a friend as Sherlock had in university, and when she wanted a child she went to him. They were never romantically involved. When she became terminally ill she contacted Sherlock and asked him to look after Olly. **

**Christina x**

**XOXOXOX**

Because, seriously, what exactly did one do with a seven year old?

The question had been bugging Sherlock for the past hour, ever since Oliver had utter the immortal words, "I'm bored!" With Sherlock as his father, it was really only a matter of time before they'd come up. The only problem was, Sherlock had absolutely, no bloody idea what to do with a seven year old. At all.

The only idea he'd come up with was the morgue. The morgue was always a good place to take a trip to, and Molly's company was acceptable enough. But when he'd texted the idea to John, he'd instantly received a reply of _GOD NO!_ It was quickly followed by a text from Mary saying _Sherlock DO NOT take your son to the morgue! _Even he'd understood from that that taking his son to the morgue was a bit not good (Although he couldn't see why. The morgue was always a good place to take a trip to, and Molly's company was acceptable enough).

So, with no better ideas forthcoming (Really, if Mary and John were so fervently against the morgue as a day trip, they should have provided a reasonable alternative. They were the so-called experts at parenting after all), he'd turned to the internet, finding a site on things to do with children in London.

"Dull... Dull... Very dull..." Sherlock said as he scrolled down the page. "Dull... Oh."

XOXOXOX

Oliver stared upwards, his mouth hanging open in astonishment.

"Good?" Sherlock asked, hoping he'd made a good choice.

"Very good," Oliver replied. He watched the life-size automated t-rex with fascination. Sherlock let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. As reluctant has he had been to take on Oliver's care, he was absolutely determined not to fail. He did not like failing. Mostly because it gave Mycroft an opportunity to gloat and hold it over his head, especially if he, Mycroft, had succeeded where Sherlock failed. Although, Sherlock thought as he followed Oliver through the Natural History Museum, he was fairly sure Mycroft would never take on any kind of fatherly responsibilities.

Oliver loved the dinosaurs, was fascinated by the exhibition on genetics, and insisted on re-visiting the earthquake simulator twice. He spent ages with his nose pressed up against the glass, looking in wonder at the fossils and thought the dodo brilliant. When they eventually left three hours later, Sherlock was fairly confident he's succeeded in finding an activity suitable for children which wasn't totally mind numbing for him.

Right on cue, his phone buzzed.

_What did you end up doing? If you say you took him to the morgue, I swear to God Sherlock, I will tell Lestrade not to give you any cases for a month. JW_

_Relax John. I took him to the Natural History Museum. SH_

_That's a surprisingly good idea. JW_

_Obviously. I'm a genius. SH_

_And modest with it. JW_

"Can we go in here?" Oliver asked, before Sherlock could send a reply to John.

"A bookstore?"

"I like books," Oliver replied nervously, as if expecting Sherlock to laugh at this. Remembering his own schooldays and being teased for wanting to learn, Sherlock could well believe that Oliver too had been laughed at for reading.

"Okay," Sherlock said. Oliver's face lit up.

"I'll be in the children's bit," he called over his shoulder, dashing off as soon as they entered the store.

Sherlock looked around, wondering what to do. He never usually came to a bookshop unless he needed a specific book these days. Reading for pleasure was not something he'd ever done. If he read a book, it was because it contained information which he wanted to learn. He spied a section entitled 'Crime' but soon realised that they were crime novels. Dull. Wandering through the shelves, he spent a few minutes flicking through a book on pirates, but it contained nothing he hadn't read before, until he came across a section entitled 'True Crime'. Running his finger along the spines, he found a book of unsolved crimes. Flicking through, there were none Sherlock recognised. So he sat himself down on the floor and began to read.

XOXOXOX

"Excuse me, sir?"

Sherlock looked up at the woman tapping him on the shoulder. _Bookstore employee, single, left handed, dyed blonde hair, single mum, cat lover..._

"What?" he replied.

"I'm afraid the store's closing in five minutes, so if you're making any purchases, now's the time," she smiled. Sherlock got to his feet, returned the book to the shelf, then began looking for Oliver. He found him in the children's section, on the floor reading a book.

"Oliver," he said, getting the boy's attention. "Time to go."

Oliver jumped up, and Sherlock saw for the first time he was reading a pirate novel. He watched as Oliver put the book back reluctantly.

"You like that book?" he asked. Oliver nodded. Sherlock picked it up. Then, after a quick detour to get the book on unsolved crimes, he paid and they headed out the shop.

XOXOXOX

John had promised Mary he'd stop in past Baker Street on his way home to check up on Oliver. Mary constantly worried that Oliver would either die, injure himself or become ill from lack of food, sleep or ingesting some kind of chemical while Sherlock disappeared into his mind palace. While John shared her worried to a certain extent, he refrained from reminding her that they too had various objects in their home which could be considered dangerous to children, not least his gun.

To his surprise however, all was quiet when he opened the front door. Which actually made him all the more worried. Sherlock was never quiet, he didn't do quiet. John personally suspected it was to do with his constant need to show off and be the centre of attention. Silence however, did not necessarily bode well for Oliver.

He opened the door to the flat cautiously and found Sherlock and Oliver sitting opposite each other in the armchairs, both so absorbed in their respective books that they didn't seem to notice John come in. John couldn't help but smile. It was cute, and for once startlingly obvious that they were father and son. He wished Mary was here.

"No," Sherlock said.

"What?" John frowned.

"No," Sherlock repeated.

"No what?"

"You were thinking that we looked 'cute', an adjective which I have never and will never agree to being, and were considering taking a picture on your phone to show Mary when you get home since you are obviously on your way home from work otherwise she would be here too, since she worries for Oliver's safety so much. So in answer to your question John, I meant no, you may not take a picture."

"You know that showing off thing we talked about?" John teased. He didn't really mind, but it was fun winding Sherlock up. "So Oliver, did you have fun today?"

"Yeah, it was brilliant!" Oliver replied, looking up from his book. "We went to this museum and they had actual dinosaur skeletons and this room that shook like you were in an earthquake, it was so cool, and there was this bit on genetics and it said how you get different bits of yourself from both your parents and that why I have blue eyes cause both my mum and dad have blue eyes, and I've got black hair like dad, then we went to a bookshop and dad bought me a book and then we went out for dinner and I had a pizza and I got extra chips because Mr Angelo said dad had helped him out."

John grinned as the little boy finally drew breath. He caught sight of the pirates of the cover of the book, and remembered the conversation wit Mycroft downstairs after the business with Irene Adler.

"_Neither do I. But initially he wanted to be a pirate."_

Sherlock stood up suddenly, disappearing into the kitchen. John frowned.

"Be right back Oliver," he said before following his best friend.

"Problem?" John asked as he entered the kitchen.

"He called me dad," Sherlock replied.

"When?"

"Just now, when he was telling you about his day."

"Well, what did he call you before?"

"Nothing. He tended to avoid any sort of title when referring to me."

"So? You are his dad," John shrugged. "I don't see the issue."

"John-"

"No, Sherlock, listen. You're all he's got. The fact that he called you dad is a good thing. It means he's getting used to you, learning to trust you. You did great today. He loved it. It's obvious. Stop worrying, or I'll set Amy and Jack on you," John threatened with a smile.

XOXOXOX

Sherlock opened the door to John's – no, Oliver's – room. Oliver was lying in bed, reading by the bedside lamp. When he noticed Sherlock, he smiled.

"John told me that I should make sure you stop reading at this time," Sherlock said awkwardly.

"Kay," Oliver replied, taking the book onto the shelf. Sherlock approached, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Do you... need anything?" he asked haltingly. Oliver shook his head. "Right. Goodnight." He reached out to tap Oliver on the shoulder, as he did to Amy and Jack. To his surprise, Oliver leaned forward and hugged him.

"Thank you. I had so much fun today. It was awesome," Oliver said, his words muffled as he spoke into Sherlock's stomach.

"You're... welcome?" Sherlock replied, patting his shoulder.

Maybe, just maybe, he could manage this parenting lark.


End file.
